Reconciling the Void
by FalloutGamerGal
Summary: A male Exile struggles to uphold the Jedi Code as he battles the beguiling nature of the dark side, and his own growing feelings for his newly acquired padawan. With the galaxy still reeling from the Mandalorian Wars and the Republic on the verge of collapse, can he find the tattered remains of the Jedi High Council before he gets pushed beyond his limits? A KotOR 2 novelization.
1. Prologue

_._

 _UPDATE:_ _ _This entire fic is scheduled to go through a revision after I post Chapter 8. This will include grammar corrections and the amendment of anything else I deem wrong with the fic at that point; so if there are any changes **you** would like to see, pm me before then.__

 _ _And to those looking into this simply because I requested them to, thank you for your time__ _ _—I appreciate it :)__

* * *

 **3963 BBY**

* * *

The young Jedi apprentice stared into the candle that flickered light around his dark quarters. In these last few hours before dawn, sleep had become a near impossible thing while seditious thoughts preyed on his vexed mind.

News had reached the enclave that the Mandalorians had ravaged another planet from the Galactic Republic. If their pace stayed consistent, more than half of the Republic would fall within the span of a mere decade; yet the High Council was _still_ determined to debate the entire war away.

Agitated, Aaron got up and began to pace in his room, a light sweat building on his brow. It had been decreed against the Jedi Code to join the Republic in battle. The Council said this war was a diversion to catch the Order off guard—that a greater, hidden threat loomed beyond their scope and that all those who broke rank and followed Revan into conflict were destined to fall to the dark side.

In spite of this, many other Jedi Knights and Masters had joined Revan already. They were willing to risk it all: permanent expulsion from the Order and even their own lives. To live as outcasts forever—and for what? For doing what the Jedi were _sworn_ to do? For protecting the _Republic_?!

He trembled as repressed emotions began to seep through him. He shouldn't let himself get angry. Anger led to the dark side.

He stopped pacing and feverishly gazed into the shadows dancing along the walls of his spartan room. He felt exhausted—tired of fighting this war in himself that would never end.

Aaron had to wonder, was he even capable of making the same sacrifices _they_ did? Could he forsake all that he knew, and all he had ever hoped for, in exchange for his peace of mind? The honors, the tranquility, the sanctity of his pleasant existence. The respect of his peers and the love of his friends... even with all of its strict discipline, the life of a Jedi was the only one he had ever wanted.

And if he were to follow the Revanchists into war he would be throwing all his prospects away, in a gamble to end the disturbances in the Force. To put an end to the echoes of pain, the immeasurable pain, of dying worlds.

He would have to fight. And at the age of 19 he was hardly a real warrior—unlike the rest of Revan's acolytes. His only notable talent was an uncanny ability to lead and coerce others. He was mediocre with a lightsaber and could barely use the Force... so was there even a place for him in the war effort?

Well of course there _was._ The Republic was looking for all the help they could get. But he didn't think they would exactly welcome a 'Jedi' with as little combat experience as him. Or as little to offer as him.

But maybe... maybe they would.

He sighed and wearily ran a hand over his flushed face. The battle raging in his youthful heart refusing to rest. He had waited like the Council had asked them all to do but to wait any longer would be remiss. If they didn't act soon, there likely wouldn't be a Republic _left_ to save _._

Aaron closed his eyes and ever so slowly felt the heat of his inner turmoil cool as a certain ataraxy took over his being. Truly, this decision had been made long ago. It was only now, in this moment, that its acceptance was finally being effectuated.

He was tired of fighting himself, and he would no longer.

With a deep breath and his chest pushed out Aaron began to pack his things—which didn't take long considering his modest lifestyle. He tried not to think of what he was about to lose, and instead, focus on what others would gain from his sacrifice. As he was about to make his leave Aaron suddenly paused by the threshold, his brown eyes flashed to the small glim that had kept him company in these wee hours. Gravely, he approached the little wax-laden flame, and blew it out. Leaving nothing behind but a wisp of smoke in his wake.

* * *

 _The boy, barely a man, was about to embark on a journey that's repercussions would send an echo through the Force on a scale never seen before. It would leave a wound, a void, that would threaten the existence of the Force itself. This is the story of the Exile and how he came to reconcile that void._


	2. Opening Suite

_Fun fact: this was the original Chapter 1. Which pulled it off better?_

* * *

 **3951 BBY**

* * *

The Exile took comfort in the sounds around him that amounted to a sort of white noise. The untuned ticking of the hyperdrive, Bao-Dur's wielding, T3-M4's constant roving and the subtle thrum that can only be heard within a ship traveling in hyperspace pleasantly reverberated throughout the hull and as of late, provided him with the means to escape the riled dissonance of his thoughts. Though they were proving ineffective to drown his mind of these latest developments.

Aaron sat cross-legged in the starboard dormitory as he tried to meditate, _again_. The years that had passed since he last applied these techniques was being made apparent with the amount of time he continued to fruitlessly waste on the task.

The peace Aaron vainly sought after was being robbed of him by one thought that resounded in his skull like a whirring hoard of shyracks: the mission Atris had charged him with. The sheer magnitude of the endeavor continued to weigh like heavy gravity on his being. It was an immense undertaking—one he doubted he would succeed in. He needed to locate the remaining Jedi Masters, convince them to convene and succeed in this before the Sith reared their ugly heads again and pray, PRAY that the Council decided to act this time.

Aaron took another deep breath that simply added to the plethora he'd already spent on centering himself. The Masters had _exiled_ themselves in light of events that took place after the Mandalorian Wars—id est, the Jedi Civil War that ensued after Revan declared herself Lord of the Sith. How— _why_ did that happen? Aaron was sure peace would reign after the Mandalorian threat was gone. So sure... it was part of the reason why he left for the Outer Rim after the war; determined to live out the rest of his life in peaceful exile. Then, in a bizarre turn of events, he was now one of the last remaining Jedi known to be alive.

Well... technically, not having participated in the Jedi Knight investiture he never became a 'Jedi'. But for reasons he could not fathom the rest of known space had assumed otherwise. It was ridiculous. **RIDICULOUS!** There were now Sith chasing him across galaxies and Bounty Hunters tracking him from planet to planet; all under the false impression that he was still a member of the dying Order.

He ruefully shook his head. _Ridiculous_.

Aaron couldn't help but marvel at the extraordinary set of occurrences that brought him into his current situation. How he ended up on the Peragus mining asteroid, where he encountered Kreia in the morgue and Atton in a cell. How they almost didn't make it off the rock before the Sith set a conflagration that consumed the small system in a fiery inferno. Then landing on Telos and being wrongly incarcerated for Peragus's destruction. And finally their jailbreak to Telos's hazardous surface where they found an acquaintance of his, Bao-Dur, and traced their stolen ship towards Atris and her empty academy in the isolated tundra.

Aaron's thoughts began to tentatively shift towards another recent development relevant to Atris: her implanted stowaway.

The newest, and not necessarily wanted, addition to the Ebon Hawk crew was one of six sisters who tended Atris as ladies-in-waiting. They were all Echani—save her. Aaron had seen enough of their kind throughout the war to know the difference. The one who snuck aboard was only half. A human-hybrid. The pallor of her skin and blue eyes lent credence to that. He, admittedly, was curious as to why she apparently had a different parent than her half-sisters. Thinking more on the subject, it really wasn't any wonder why they had treated her so lowly at the time of his 'visit'.

With that in mind, maybe she was simply a runaway and her story about being here under Atris's guise was spurious. It wouldn't surprise him, and he couldn't contact Atris to know for sure anyhow. As long as the Handmaiden didn't get in the way he intended to tolerate her presence _and_ her ambiguous intentions. Maybe she would prove to be an asset in their task; though on Onderon he failed to see how she would be of much help unless they engaged in combat—of which he had high doubts would happen considering the civility of the world. No. It was more than likely going to be a wild boma hunt. Searching an entire planet for one lone Jedi who didn't want to be found...

 _Master Kavar_

Memories of the past flooded his mind and Aaron silently laughed to himself. Meditation was never his strong suit, but this was getting out of hand.

He would complete this task for Atris, for _them_. He owed the survivors that much. For having been right all along...

He took another deep breath and in a last ditch effort to tame his thoughts, recited part of the Jedi mantra.

There is no emotion...

There is peace.

And all he needed to do now was just breathe.


	3. Another Delay

_**.**_

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _In my eagerness to get this done, I seem to have earned myself some fun tendonitis so... I'll post this chap for now until I recover (and so I'll be forced to let my wrists rest) but it is far from finished.  
_

* * *

 **Dxun**

* * *

"So... exactly how long until the repairs are finished?" Aaron asked, multiple contingencies reeled in his mind as he struggled to come up with a plan to salvage their situation.

Atton looked up at him from the open panel of the ship he was eviscerating and ran a smudged hand through his choppy, brown hair as he contemplated an answer. "I'm still waiting on Bao-Dur's assessment, but I'd say if everything goes smoothly we _may_ have the Ebon Hawk running again within a week. That's assuming of course that our new friends don't find us first... and that the moon's native wildlife decides to _not_ eat us in the meantime."

Aaron sighed and nodded a dismissal, leaning back against a wall in the cockpit. The smell of melted steel and fried wires that currently wafted around him only helped to aggravate his already raw nerves.

First it was the Sith, then the Bounty Hunters and _now_ the Onderonian government. It would seem as though the entire galaxy wanted to blast a hole through him.

While they were waiting for permission to enter Onderon's atmosphere, a division of the Onderonian fleet abruptly opened fire upon the Ebon Hawk and started a _massive_ dogfight that resulted with many other independent starships getting caught in the crossfire. One thing was for certain: the Ebon Hawk crew wouldn't be the only ones that were forced to land on Onderon's wild jungle moon.

And apparently they were now grounded for a week next to a hostile planet—and on _Dxun_ of all places.

Aaron pinched his temples as frustration threatened to consume him. Ever since he entered the 'Inner Rim' he had been dodging blows at every turn. This was not how he expected Republic space to greet him—not after everything he'd sacrificed to keep it intact.

It was clear now that something needed to be done about these attacks if he was to have any hope of accomplishing this task. Why the Sith wanted him dead was obvious and not something he could necessarily avoid, but the bounty on his head? Or the Onderonian government firing upon his ship? He had helped _liberate_ the Onderonians from Mandalorian control in the war.

His thoughts became distracted as the star-map above Atton's head started to blink at an alarmingly increased rate from whatever he was doing to the ship.

He frowned at him, "Are you sure you know what you're doing down there?"

Atton prodded at a large yellow cord before he answered, "No, not really. We need to get the Ebon Hawk's main systems offline or the trigger happy locals might get to play target practice with our hull again." He reached for a hydrospanner and stuck his hand back into the guts of the ship, " _And_ since I'm having to work around all the damage we took I'm needing to—"

A loud electrical pop accompanied with a yelp rang from Atton's position that was followed by a dying hum, as all the lights in the Ebon Hawk blacked out. The noises that emanated from down the hall suggested that the usually genteel Bao-Dur was swearing explicitly, and that T3-M4 had crashed into something large and hollow as the droid let out a long peal of drastically upset beeps and boops.

Aaron pursed his lips and glared into the darkness surrounding him. _I guess that's one way to get the systems offline._

"Crap," he heard Atton growl, then louder, "I'm-I'm working on it! Just give me a—"

"Watching a fool labor is hardly a good use of your time, Exile."

Aaron nearly jumped at Kreia's sudden nearness in the pitch black while Atton mumbled something unflattering under his breath.

"Weeell," Atton drew out the word, seeming to direct his animus towards her voice, "Isn't it nice of you to finally grace us with your presence. And here I was beginning to think that you were starting to avoid me."

The older woman gave a cold laugh, "Don't flatter yourself. I wouldn't waste any effort on such an endeavor, or even the notion." As she spoke the Ebon Hawk's auxiliary lights kicked in, illuminating the space around them in a dim turquoise that showed Kreia was only a couple feet from where they currently stood.

"Oh that's right—why would you avoid me when I'm the favorite?" Atton rolled his eyes while he rubbed at his shocked hand, "I think I might have forgotten that while you were busy dishing out your brand of love and affection earlier."

Kreia finally ignored him and peered at Aaron from under her brown cowl, "I came here because there is something that we need to discuss, and I would prefer to have that conversation... in _private,_ " she stated, clearly making it known that Atton's presence was not something she desired.

Aaron irritatingly flicked his gaze from her contempt profile to Atton's bitter expression. The animosity that ceaselessly spilled between the two was beginning to take a toll on his already thinning patience.

 _Why won't they just get along already?_

As much as he valued Kreia's input he had decided he was not going to put up with her degrading Atton any longer. He _was_ going to have this crew get along.

He started, tentatively but sternly, "Anything you have to say to me can be said in front of everyone on this ship. Everyone."

"Even the servant of Atris?" she hmped, "You trust others too easily, Exile. Though I suppose never having experienced betrayal has made you naïve to such things."

He narrowed his eyes at her. While he enjoyed musing about her seemingly omniscient mind it did, on occasion, disturb him over how much she actually knew about his history.

She looked at Atton as if to convey something then turned her attention back to him and declared, "I will be waiting in my chambers for when you finally see it fit, to give me some of your undivided attention." And without waiting for a response she withdrew from the cockpit—leaving Aaron miffed and feeling like he owed Atton another apology for her condescending behavior.

As he listened to her retreating steps he turned over to see Atton gently flexing his right hand, his face appearing... angry.

Concerned about both his health and apparent agitation, Aaron asked, "Are you alright?"

Atton seemed lost in thought for a moment before he replied, "Yeah... I mean, I can't feel my _hand_ but other than that I'm perfectly ok."

Aaron paused for a beat.

"Listen... about Kreia—"

The pilot waved him off with his good hand, "You should go see what the old witch wants from you. Maybe—though unlikely—she might have something to say that can help us out. Besides," Atton gave him an amiable smile, "You're obviously messing with my mojo. Leave the pilot to fix his ship, m'kay?"

He didn't feel like he should let it slide but before he could say anymore Atton commented, "I should probably go recruit the help of our fellow mechanic, seeing as how my hand is now useless," then he added jokingly, "Hopefully I can get to him without confronting the little trash compactor. That droid holds a grudge, you know." He gave Aaron a look that seemed especially conciliating then quit the room, which left him alone to think something over.

In his experience, it was entirely normal for a nascent crew to have a rocky start as they established a pecking order, but this friction between Atton and Kreia... it was starting to seem like there was something else going on—or that perhaps they'd offended each other at some irreconcilable level.

Aaron sighed. It had been far too long since he worked with this many people. His suave leadership skills still needed some honing.

It became apparent to him that it might not be within his power to remedy this rift, but he could at least _try_ to get the opposing sides to cease fire. For the sake of his own sanity if nothing else.

Determined now, he started out for the crew quarters. His padded soles left metallic thuds as he passed through the darkly lit hull of the ship when another thought occurred to him.

From what he'd seen so far, it _did_ appear to him that Atton had set himself against half the crew from the start, so maybe he was more to blame for this than Aaron wanted to believe. Either way, after having witnessed Atton handle that dogfight up there he did not want him going anywhere. He _needed_ that pilot if they were going to run into more situations like that and if he could somehow make their environment more inviting to him, then that was something he felt obliged to make happen.

At this point he arrived at the threshold of the port dormitory and found Kreia meditating on the metal floor, looking very much like an old Jedi herself despite denouncing any affiliation. A part of Aaron continued to hope that her denial was simply a font or ruse. To him, it would make sense for her to rebut being a Jedi simply for the sake of survival—given the circumstances. He was fairly certain that all that was needed was time for him to earn her trust before she would divulge more details on the matter.

"So," his mentor began upon having noticed his arrival, "Have you considered your next step? Or was your conversation with the simpleton that tantalizing?"

Aaron strode in her direction, Atton might be mildy annoying but her constant condemning was uncalled for and it felt wrong to tolerate it any longer. "Listen, I know you two don't get along for whatever reason but your hostility isn't making this situation any better. Maybe you could lay off of him a bit? Unless you're looking forward to finding us another pilot in the near future."

She huffed, "He is not going anywhere or he would have left us already. I believe _you_ know this though, to some extent."

Now Aaron didn't _know_ so much but... now that she mentioned it, he did get a sense that Atton wasn't in a rush to vacate his current company. Why that may be the case though, he had no idea. He imagined any normal person would be pining to leave with the kind of near-death experiences he frequently pulled the rest of them into.

"Why _does_ he still stick around?" he wondered out loud, a bit perturbed now by the thought.

"Perhaps it is because he is a low life who sees a chance to make more use of his pathetic existence, or perhaps he has hopes to redeem himself of some past crime by helping you in this endeavor." She paused, "Why presume I understand the inner workings of an idiot's mind? Perhaps _you_ would serve better in solving this question of yours."

Aaron simply smiled at her, a bit amused. She got especially crotchety whenever anyone began questioning her actions.

She regarded him for a moment then sighed in defeat, "Do not worry about... Atton, leaving. If it will help put your thoughts into a more productive state then I will try to better tolerate him and his insolence."

Kreia was a very prideful woman. Accepting his judgement over her own he knew was not easy for her.

"Thank you," he said with fervent feeling.

"Do not thank me just yet. As much as it may amuse Atton to believe I spend my waking hours fabricating insults to compliment him with, I did not go into the cockpit to belittle the pilot—I am not that petty," she sniffed, "You _were_ wasting your time when it could be otherwise utilized."

Aaron wrung his hands for a moment. She was right, of course, but he had many reasons for not wanting to do much more than stay on the ship... given the locality they currently found themselves inhabiting.

He tried to excuse his actions, "That was because I needed to know the extent of the damage before I acted. Plus," another tact came to him, "I didn't want to make any calls until I knew everyone on the ship was alright." Which wasn't necessarily a lie either.

He felt her disapproval roll through their force-bond, "There is a very high chance you may lose some of those that follow you in this task, and in coddling them as you have done so far you only weaken them—which is an even greater cruelty. The first thing you should have done when we landed was get off of this ship and make sure we were in a safe position. If these followers can't tend to themselves, or this vessel, without your assistance then they are of no use in this enterprise."

At her words his compassion was kindled, "But without... coddling them, as you have said, I may become responsible for an injury which is something... I don't wish to have on my conscience." As he often did, Aaron found himself looking at her missing left hand: a reminder of the sacrifice she made for him on Peragus and why the bitter woman had perpetually secured his respect and affection.

She knew what he was referring to and scoffed, "And from the lack of such coddling I have only become stronger from the experience, not weaker. Look at yourself; would you say you are less now than you were before the war?"

He was about to give her a resounding _YES_ when she cut him off, "Enough, this conversation tires me and you have better things to do with your time. There are many dangers on the surface of this moon—as you know," she said, making it evident that she was aware of the real reason he hesitated, "And securing the area is something that can benefit us, and if our enemies _do_ locate us it would be best if we were not all trapped on this ship."

Aaron stared at her as apprehension began to seep deep in his gut. Once again, she knew more about him than he ever told her. Dxun was where the bloodiest battle took place during the Mandalorian Wars. It was also where Aaron first served at the post of general in the effort.

If there was a single place that could substitute as his own personal purgatory it was here. Well, here and one other place.

He steeled a pervasive gaze at her, "You're never going to say why you know so much about me, are you?"

"As I have told you before, it is simply my business to know these things," she replied, rather flippantly.

He snarled in half humor and half agitation. _Right, like that was even an excuse, that it was her "business" to know everything about him._

He wasn't going to argue with her. Whether he liked it or not she, and everyone else on this ship, were some of the few people that haven't tried to kill him and so he would have to learn to take them as they are. With all their clandestine secrets included.

"Then I'll prepare to leave," he half bowed, wondering why the Force had decided to surround him with these lunatics.

"A word of caution," she started, genuine concern filling her voice, "I sense another presence on the surface. Sentients that are... familiar with yourself. I suggest that you take some of the others with you as you traverse the landscape, in case your path takes you to them."

He knew her well enough by now to know that she wasn't going to get less cryptic than that. He nodded and she resumed her previous meditative state as a dismissal. Aaron then made his way back to the main hold of the ship, all the while mulling over her warning. Kreia probably meant that there were Onderonian foot patrols scouting the surface. An idea that didn't entirely sit well with him at the moment.

Of course, sentient didn't necessarily mean _sapient_ , so perhaps she was referring to some of Dxun's infamous beasts. Honestly, being her, she probably meant both.

He knew what needed to be done. Taking a stroll on Dxun was not something he particularly desired to do, but it would benefit them if they found and dealt with whatever might be lurking on the moon now, than continue to sit around like the giant target they were.

He stood in the main hold now and watched as T3-M4 rolled by, carrying some tools in its little limbs. He remembered the nightmare Dxun's terrain posed for machinery that didn't hover and could easily see T3 getting stuck in the mud, and then promptly consumed by either a pack of cannoks or some enormous zakkeg. So even though the astromech droid possessed a decent enough arsenal, it would be imprudent to bring it along. Atton and Kreia shouldn't go for the obvious reasons. Bao-Dur had been on Dxun before like himself so he would be immensely helpful—and he could always help fix the ship later. Then there was the Handmaiden who, after checking to ensure that the crew was alive and well, locked herself back in the cargo hold and awaited to be "summoned". She was, as she told him, "proficient in the Echani arts", which he wasn't entirely familiar with but understood that it was a form of melee combat.

Now three was a crowd too small for an expedition like this, but it would have to do. It was certainly better than taking it on alone, and as much as he would prefer to have a battalion of Republic soldiers at his disposal, the mechanic and Atris's handmaiden were all he had available.

And as for himself—his combat mastery hadn't improved much since participating in the war. But what he lacked in physical talent he tended to make up for in strategic aptitude. A tactician, if you will. It was this mental faculty that enabled him to climb the ranks of the Republic's military hierarchy so quickly.

Or at least, that was how _he_ figured it; since he could not explain even to himself why supreme commander Revan had personally promoted him from lieutenant, to the station of general at the tender age of 22.

Having the minute details of his assignment decided, his eyes drifted across main hold; knowing full well that he needed to quit delaying the inevitable, but still not quite willing to do so just yet. His gaze came to rest upon the faintly rusted assassin droid that sat in the adjacent storage room. His scrutinizing stare lingered on the ominous holes that were ripped into the torso of its bipedal frame.

What he would give to have a droid like that running and operating at a time like this.


End file.
